Cancer Man
by Super Secret Siha
Summary: Cross-Posted on the kmeme. In The Illusive Man's final moments, he remembers what changed him. Rated M for coarse language, violence, and sexual content. Bioware owns all.
1. Chapter 1

He should have known it would end this way, with black tendrils digging in the soft spaces and a bullet in his brain. With the face of his Valkyrie filling his view. How she shined! In the haze of his final moments, as the unctuous fingers shredded his will, how his angel burned through the darkness. Her silver tongue would fail her one last time, and as his tale came to a close, hers would come full circle. He should have known it would end this way. She had told him so a thousand times.

_ 10 Months Ago_

Nos Astra was chilly that night, and although climate control was available in the private room, Jack Harper, AKA the Illusive Man, had decided to make use of the fireplace. As the light of the flames flickered against Shepard's coppery hair, he knew he had made the right decision. She was a vision in person, her black and white high-necked uniform clinging to her lean curves, her curly tresses swept back in an artfully sloppy half-twist. Security be damned, the man thought, if it allowed him to see her this way.

"This is nice," Shepard said, taking in their surroundings. "Not sure it's necessary…"

"It's necessary," Harper assured her. He handed her a glass of bourbon and stood across from her in front of the fireplace, smoking his cigarette. "Now. What can I do for you?"

Shepard sniffed the amber-colored liquid, shrugged, and took a small sip. It was good, really good. Tasted of oak and molasses; this was Kentucky straight, not the Bekenstein knockoff. "I like to get to know the people I'm working with," she said.

"Well. I'm happy to oblige you, Shepard," Harper replied. "Within reason, of course."

Shepard took another sip of her bourbon, as the Illusive Man's eyes took note of every tiny detail. Pink tongue darted out between dark, full lips to capture the stray droplets of liquor. Pupils slightly dilated. Was it from the dim light, or the bourbon, or something else, far more pleasant?

"Of course. What's with your eyes, anyway?" Shepard asked. "They do anything fancy or are they just there to creep out the ladies?"

The Illusive Man put out his smoke and took one confident step forward, then another. "The prostheses supply me with data on my surroundings, and the people within them. For example, your pulse rate just increased by ten percent. Do I frighten you, Shepard? Do I 'creep you out'?"

Shepard barked out a laugh. "Only insofar as I know what you're capable of," she replied. "I haven't forgotten Akuze, or what you did to Admiral Kahoku. By rights I should kill you here and now."

"You're no murderer," Harper said, his voice low. He spread out his arms in a gesture of supplication. "I stand unarmed, defenseless before you."

"You tryin' to turn me on?" Shepard smirked.

"If I was trying to turn you on, Commander, you wouldn't have to ask."

At this, Shepard smiled, brighter than an exploding star. For a few moments, they regarded each other in silence. The fire crackled, and flames writhed and danced in Shepard's eyes. She swallowed the last of her bourbon with a shake of her head. "I should go," she said.

The realization hit him with megaton force. He wanted her desperately. But, of course he wanted her; she was Commander Shepard, hero of the Citadel, savior of the galaxy. The best humanity had to offer. Everyone wanted her. His desire dug more deeply than want, to a hidden place about which Jack Harper had almost successfully made himself forget.

Reaching for her glass, Harper took another step forward. "Stay," he said softly, his eyes focused on hers with the concentration of a raptor. "One more drink. Ask me anything you like, and I promise I'll answer truthfully."

Shepard relinquished her glass with a nod. Harper was certain that Shepard wasn't buying the whole "truthfully" thing. That was fine, just as long as her curiosity overrode her disdain. One attribute that Harper lo—_appreciated_ about Shepard was her willingness to listen to him, to hear him out even when they were at odds with each other. The cynic in him crowed that she listened because he was the man with the resources, but his inner optimist quietly reminded Harper that he believed her when no one else did, and that alone was reason enough for her to take his ideas into consideration. He poured the bourbon.

"Most people in your position wouldn't make an offer like that," Shepard said, the gears turning. "What's your angle?"

"Two things: first, there is no one else in my position," the Illusive Man declared. This elicited a wry smile from the Commander. "Second, I trust you. While the feeling is less than mutual, I hope one day to earn your trust in kind. That's the angle."

"All right. I'll bite," Shepard replied. "What do your friends call you, _Illusive Man_?"

Harper handed her the drink. "They call me Sir," he smirked.

"Uh huh," Shepard rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Truthfully, is it?"

"You can call me John. But not in front of your crew."

One more drink became two more, and a half hour later found Shepard and Harper on the black leather couch, debating the merits of using Reaper technology to further the interests of humanity.

"You realize that the turians are doing it, as well," Harper said. He took a long drag from his cigarette. "The Thanix is nothing more than scaled down Reaper tech."

"It's one thing to use their weapons against them," Shepard countered. "But the implants… how much of my new body comes from Sovereign? Am I even human anymore?"

"Of course you're still human, Shepard, as am I," Harper replied. "These implants are merely improvements. I daresay you wouldn't have survived the Praetorian attack on Horizon without your upgrades."

"I wouldn't have been on Horizon in the first place without my upgrades, and neither would the Collectors," Shepard muttered. "As you know."

Harper waved his hand. "Completely beside the point. We are talking about Reaper technology, not reviewing mission specs."

"Wow," Shepard drawled. "Thanks so much for keeping me on topic, Mr. Moderator. You brought up Horizon. I'm just pointing out how you almost got my friend killed because in your twisted worldview the end always justifies the means."

"Not always," Harper said, stubbing out his cigarette. "Most of the time, but not always. But this isn't about me or my worldview. You haven't put Kaidan Alenko behind you."

Shepard's face was flushed, her eyes narrowed. Her breath came quickly through her parted lips and her chest heaved. Harper thought he had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. "I told you," she hissed. "That is none of your business."

"Alenko is a fool," Harper breathed. "If he can't see you for what you are, then he doesn't deserve you."

"And what am I, John?" Shepard asked, her expression softening slightly from rage to confused anger. "What is Kaidan supposed to see?"

"What I see," Harper replied. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind Shepard's ear. "The most amazing woman in the galaxy."

"Now I know you're trying to turn me on," Shepard said, her voice huskier than she wanted it to be.

"See?" Harper whispered. "You didn't have to ask."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Bioware owns the lot.

_1 Month Ago_

The thing Harper missed most about having Shepard on the Cerberus payroll was surveilling her in those small, unguarded moments when she had forgotten he was watching. In those moments he had observed the woman she was, rather than the projection she showed to the world. Most of these instants had been mundane: Shepard in the battery, working silently in the comfortable company of her turian friend; Shepard scanning for minerals, smiling to herself as she discovered a large deposit; Shepard in her cabin, watching the fish glide through the water in her aquarium. A very few had been exquisite: Shepard in the shower, touching herself; the stoic Commander coming apart beneath the drell's lips and tongue.

For the months of her incarceration, and the time since, Harper had made due with these recordings, imagining the drell's mouth was his own, that her hands moved over her body at his direction. On Mars, free at last, Shepard had offered herself to him; to fight the Reapers, yes, but still, she had given him an opening, a chance to win her affection. Harper had meant to accept, but the words that came out of his mouth, about dominance and ascendancy, had turned her away from him. It was as if the words he'd spoken were not his own.

But, of course, that was a ridiculous notion. Harper was in full control of himself, and soon he would control the Reapers as well. Then Shepard would see how wrong she had been. She would beg his forgiveness, and he, being a generous man, would have mercy on her. He would show her wonders she had never dared to envisage, and she would be his for all time. It would be his name—his real name—that she cried out in ecstasy. She would never doubt him again. These events he saw with clarity, heard them in deep whispers. With these thoughts came a surge of power, a tingling in his extremities and a hum through his body. The Reapers would fall to his will and humanity would rise as masters of the galaxy.

Still, that inevitable end was a while off. Lawson's project at Sanctuary had a few minor hitches to overcome, and Shepard continued to get in Harper's way at the most inconvenient times. Leng, petulant child that he was, kept pleading with him to order a hit on Shepard. Jealousy was so unbecoming in a top operative. True, Shepard was nothing if not persistent. She would keep going until she was dead, and, as Cerberus had proven definitively with the Lazarus Project, even afterwards. But she did keep the Reapers focused away from Cerberus activities, or at least that is what he told Leng to put him off for the moment.

In all honesty, though Leng had failed to complete his objectives on the Citadel, the coup attempt could not have gone much better than it did. Shepard's alien lover was dead, an unexpected and pleasant outcome predicated entirely on the drell's terminal illness. Even better, Alenko had fallen to the turian's bullet. Shepard was more vulnerable now than she had been in years. Ensign Copeland, the Cerberus mole inside the Normandy, had reported that the turian was so beside himself with guilt that he paid no attention to the Commander's deteriorating condition.

Copeland had managed to smuggle a holo communicator into Shepard's cabin a few days ago, but Harper had been waiting for the appropriate moment to activate it. Now was the time to strike, to burrow inside her head so deeply that she could no longer concentrate. With a word, he was in her cabin. The room's only illumination was the blue light of the aquarium, but this was enough to see what he came to see.

It was the night cycle, and Shepard lay peacefully sleeping. Harper watched her for a few minutes, and noted that she was not yet dreaming. Maybe he was. Dressed only in a gray tank top and black panties, laid out before him, Shepard looked like something out of his most feverish fantasies. Harper trembled with desire as he remembered how she had felt pinned between his body and the wall, how her hot mouth had seared his skin, how she had tasted light and fresh like a breeze through the honeysuckle vines of his youth. The memory wasn't enough anymore. The fantasies, inadequate from the get-go, did nothing to cool his boiling blood. If only he could touch her again.

Harper reached for her, ghosted the projection of his fingers along her lips, her breasts, her sex. Neither of them felt a thing. It wasn't enough.

"Wake up, Shepard," he whispered.

Her eyes shot open, and the next thing Harper knew, there was an M-77 Paladin pointed at his virtual face. Shepard was so fast, he almost flinched. Instead, he chuckled.

"You," Shepard growled. "How the hell…"

From his jacket pocket the Illusive Man procured a silver cigarette case, and from the case he plucked a cigarette. "My operatives are everywhere, Commander," he replied, then lit the cigarette. "I can get to you any time I please. The only reason you're still alive is because I will it. Just thought you needed to know."

"Shepard," EDI's calm, artificial voice rang out through the comms. "Sensors indicate a communications disruption on your level. Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, EDI. Just messing around with some tech I found planetside. As you were."

"Logging you out, Shepard."

Shepard sighed, and lowered her weapon. "Do you want something, John, or are you just here to fuck with my head?"

"Oh, Shepard," Harper purred. "I'd like to fuck with more than just your head."

"You're absolutely delusional," Shepard laughed mirthlessly. "Killing Thane, I understand. He always was a threat to you. But I saw your people gunning down unarmed civilians. Doesn't exactly give me warm feelings in the pants, John. Kinda leaves me cold."

"Your actions suggest otherwise, but no matter. If Krios had stayed out of the way, he would still be alive," Harper replied matter-of-factly. "He should have remained hidden."

"That was never an option," Shepard said. "Thane was an honorable man, something you could never comprehend."

"Again, you assume you know me…"

"And again, you underestimate me," Shepard shot back. "You built me. You should know you can't just show up after what you've done and rekindle whatever you think is between us."

"So you deny Nos Astra?" Harper sneered. "Just pretend it never happened, is that it? I'm not surprised, but I am disappointed."

"No, it happened," Shepard said quietly. "But that's all that is ever going to happen. Besides, I thought I was a 'relic'"

Harper took a long drag off of his cigarette. "Come on, Shepard. That was just for show. It would compromise both our commands if anyone knew how very fond of you I am, and always have been."

Shepard sighed again, and rested her head on her pillow. "I'm going back to sleep, John. If you want to watch for old time's sake I won't stop you, but tomorrow that communicator's going out the airlock. Night night."

He should have taken Miranda's advice. He should have installed the control chip. "When I finally get my hands on you, Shepard, I'm going to grab you by the throat and fuck the defiance right out of you," he growled.

Shepard opened her eyes. To Harper's delight, they were almost completely black. As she sat up, Shepard drew in a shaky breath through parted lips. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," the Illusive Man purred.

The Commander squeezed her eyes shut, and furrowed her brow. She balled her hands into fists and punched at the bed. Harper was just about to tell her to stop fighting herself when her eyes opened, and zeroed in on his. Shepard licked her lips. "Say it again," she said, her voice rough from more than just sleepiness. "Slower this time."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Bioware owns all. Sexual content follows.

_10 Months Ago_

This was an odd sensation. For the first time in a long time, Harper was unsure what to do. Shepard was laughing at him. Full-throated, doubled-over laughing. At him, Jack Harper, Illusive Man, mysterious leader of a shadowy, multilayered terrorist organization. The lives and deaths of untold millions hung on the balance of his will, and she was sitting there laughing right in his face.

"You are so full of shit!" she exclaimed. "It's adorable, really."

"Shepard, I…"

She placed her index finger against his lips. "Shhh. Don't speak. I need to catch my breath."

Harper grasped Shepard's wrist, removed her finger from his face and placed her hand gently on her lap. He decided to indulge her just once, and for a limited time. She had to be going somewhere interesting with this, and, if he was being truthful, it was refreshing to be in the presence of a person who refused to defer to him. That she did not simply bend to his desires at a hint of flattery was evidence that she was worthy of his attention. It only made him want her more. So he let her talk for a while. She was always willing to listen to him, after all.

Behind that elegant, refined veneer, Shepard said, Harper was a warped son of a bitch. They both knew it, she said, so it wasted both of their time when he behaved differently. If he wanted to earn her trust like he'd said then he should drop the act when it was just the two of them. And it was just the two of them, wasn't it?

That polished front he put up was an insult, she said, not to her, but to the man he really was. His hands, she noted, were calloused and rough, whereas the man he pretended to be had never dug a ditch, had never scraped the soil of some backwoods planet from under his manicured fingernails. Those hands told a story incongruent with his extravagant airs. Beneath that fancy suit, she bet he had scars that he was aching to show her.

She rose from the couch then, and began to pace back and forth. Harper rose as well, and moved to the bar, where he poured himself another drink. He motioned to Shepard, as if to ask her would she like another. Shepard nodded, and took the bourbon when offered it. This time, she did not sip the liquor, but took it down her throat in one unceremonious gulp. She shuddered, closed her eyes against the burn, and gripped the tumbler tightly in her slender fingers.

Furthermore, she continued after a few silent moments, if he thought he could sweet-talk her like she was some wide-eyed subordinate, he needed to disabuse himself of that impression post fucking haste. She didn't require him to tell her how amazing she was. She could get that from any two-credit Conrad in any dive bar in the galaxy, and had done so, in low moments of which she was less than proud.

The truth, she said, was that Cerberus must have brought her back wrong, because the woman she pretended to be, the woman she'd thought she was—the woman she'd been before Alchera, maybe—would have walked out of here forty-five minutes ago. But there was something bent inside her now as well, she said, something rippling below her too-perfect skin, and that was Harper's fault. So, from him, the man who had built her up from meat and tubes, Shepard needed one thing: she needed him to tell her exactly what those hard hands would to do to her if given half the chance.

And then Shepard wasn't talking any longer, because she was against the wall with Harper's mouth on hers. The tumbler she'd been holding fell to the floor and rolled underneath the bar. For a few agonizing seconds she was completely still, her eyes wide as if in shock, her body unyielding as if in rigor mortis. Just as Harper was wondering if he had misunderstood her intentions, Shepard relaxed. Her eyes closed, her lips parted and her hands snaked around to the back of Harper's neck.

Strange how everything happened so quickly. Harper didn't remember the clothes coming off, but now they were strewn across the floor. Shepard was pinned to the wall, her long legs wrapped around his hips. Harper was inside her, one hand beneath her thigh to support her, and the other tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck; his mouth was at her ear, whispering every filthy thing that entered his mind.

He would tie her, face down, to his bed and smack her bare ass with his indurate hands, for she was a willful woman who refused to acknowledge that her privileged position in this galaxy—indeed, her continued existence—was due only to his aspiration. She would beg him, to stop, to hit harder, to please just fuck her already, but he would do exactly as his inclination guided him. When he was ready, and not before, he would take a flushed red cheek in each hand and spread them wide apart. Digging his nails into her flesh, he would then spit on her asshole, and work his thumb into the tight orifice.

"Oh fuck yeah," Shepard moaned. Her legs wrapped tighter around him, and her heels dug into the small of Harper's back. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, her face awash with the pleasure he gave her. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she felt, enveloping him in her heat, how the sensation of her teeth scraping against his neck made him shiver, how nothing mattered but the spicy scent of her hair and the taste of her salty skin. He wanted to tell her that the universe could fall into entropy right then and there, and he would possess not one regret so long as he was swathed in her.

He wanted to say these things, but he did not. She would laugh. She would laugh, and it would be the end of them both. Even worse, she wouldn't laugh, and the outcome would be the same.

So he told her how he would stretch out that tight little asshole with his thumb and fingers until she bore down on them, wanting it deeper, harder, more. He would smack her ass again as he pumped his fingers into her, and again she would plead for his cock. And he would be generous this time, because she had asked so nicely. He would spit on his free hand and stroke himself good and slick, and in one smooth motion he would remove his fingers from her ass and plunge his cock into their place.

When Shepard came, one of Harper's hands was rubbing furiously at her clit, and the other was wrapped around her throat.

It was difficult to tell what time it was. Darkness could never fully shroud Nos Astra, no matter how thick the fabric of night's cloak was woven. Shepard and Harper lounged naked before the fireplace, passing a cigarette between them. Perhaps it was endorphins that caused her to curl herself against him. Perhaps these same endorphins compelled Shepard to trace the line of a particularly prominent scar across Harper's chest.

"John," she said, her voice sleepy. "Is the deal still on?"

"Of course," Harper nodded. "Ask me anything."

And she could have. She could have called him on his bullshit moniker again and he would have told her his real name, only to hear it ringing off the walls the next time he touched her right there. She could have inquired how he had founded Cerberus, and he would have told her about the war, and about Eva, only so Shepard would know that he'd had a heart once, and maybe he could again.

She could have asked him these things, but she did not.

"Why didn't you let Miranda install the control chip?"

Harper took the last drag from the cigarette, and stubbed it out in the nearby ashtray. "You wouldn't have been you," he replied. "Humanity needs you, Shepard. Not a puppet."

_I need you_, was what he did not say.

"What if I'm not me?"

"You're you."

"But what if I'm not?"

Harper looked deeply into her eyes, lifted her chin with his fingers, and kissed her soundly. "You're you," he assured her.

Shepard smiled, her hands moving slowly down Harper's body. "I don't know… I might need more convincing."

The Illusive Man set about convincing her.

ste your document here...


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Bioware owns all. Thank you, subscribers and reviewers! Sorry so slow. Life gets in the way sometimes.**

_1 Month Ago_

Jack Harper dreamed of Shanxi, more so lately than ever before. The Artifact loomed and gleamed and hummed into his bones. Its shape made no sense. Its curves conformed to no mathematical formula that Harper could discern. His favorite part—the worst part—was when the Artifact gave him all the time he needed to try to discern it. He measured the Artifact, sometimes using an old-time measuring tape, sometimes with an omni-tool. Harper would take a pencil and paper and plug the numbers he'd collected into formulas he had never learned. Sometimes he had a calculator, too. Sometimes his calculator and his omni-tool fought for dominance, and that led to a new tributary of the dream altogether. It always led into the blue light.

Jack Harper dreamed of blindness. He pushed Ben away from the Artifact, and the blue light burned away the universe. Sometimes it was still Eva's voice that called his name; something to grasp in the all-consuming blue abyss, but these days it was usually Shepard's. Ben's high-pitched giggle came from everywhere, as if the scene were taking place onstage in an ancient auditorium. The maddening cackle drowned out all other sound until it became something wholly different: the roar of a thousand Reapers.

"They're inside us," Ben whispered, his voice somehow a part of and separate from the Reapers' unholy blare. "They've always been inside us."

Jack Harper fell into the cerulean void, dissipating into a centillion fragments.

The blue light of Shepard's aquarium and the hum of the Normandy's systems brought Harper's thoughts briefly to these unsettling dreams. The sound of his alias on Shepard's lips yanked him back into the present.

"John, please," she said, more frustrated than needy. "Just… say it again."

She'd taken his momentary silence as a tease. So much the better. On Illium, Harper had felt an overwhelming urge to reveal himself a man, rather than the monster Shepard liked to imagine he was. Now, in the electric blue of her quarters, he found that impulse conspicuously absent. The idea that he was a beast without conscience, without the capacity for tender emotion, appealed to him just then, as clearly it did to her. Her sanctimony with regard to him might live to see another day, but the rest of her would fracture tonight. When the time was right, she would shatter as he did at the end of those terrible, beautiful dreams.

Harper said it again, nice and slow. He enunciated every syllable, with particular emphasis on the hard consonants. He drew out the r's like the slavering animal she wanted him to be. Shepard closed her eyes again. Her knees drew up slightly, as if by their own accord, and her right hand found its way to her clavicle. Her left hand clutched at the sheet.

Shepard tilted her head down and licked the pad of her right thumb. With her fingers she slid her tank top down and off her breast, then swirled her thumb around her hardening nipple.

"Then what?" she breathed.

He was so hard for her it was painful. But this was not just about getting off; it was about control, and proving a point. And then getting off.

"Then..." Harper took a long drag from his cigarette. "Then I will probably have breakfast."

Shepard's eyes opened and she scowled. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's the most important meal of the day, you know," Harper continued. "I was thinking Belgian waffles. Do you like Belgian waffles? With the war on it's difficult to find real whipped cream, but I have my ways."

"Really, John? That's where we're going with this?" Shepard snarled. "Waffles?"

"You look chilly," Harper smirked. "Maybe you should cover up."

A litany of curses in several languages fell from Shepard's mouth. Rather than follow the Illusive Man's helpful suggestion, she tore the tank top from her torso. "I'm not chilly, you smug fuck. I'm… GAH!"

"But you just said I left you cold, didn't you? Frankly, I don't see what you're so upset about," Harper said coolly, as he instinctively dodged the tank top that flew at his projected face. "There's nothing more between us, remember? Or, am I confused? What am I missing?"

"Nothing," Shepard said. "It's nothing. You're not confused."

"Oh, I think I must be," Harper replied, unabashedly staring at her pert breasts. "If you're _not_ cold…"

"What do you want from me? I mean, you came here…"

"Yes…"

"You came here, all power-tripping like you haven't failed to achieve every objective you've put forth since this war began..."

"Shepard," Harper replied, his hands at his heart in mock-offense. "You wound me."

The Commander shook her head and laughed a little bit. "All the trouble you must have gone through to get to me. Smuggling that communicator on board…"

"Trust me; it was no trouble at all."

"What, then?" Shepard asked. "You can't fuck me from wherever you are. You can only watch. Like the old days. Feeling nostalgic, John? You want me to touch myself for you?"

Harper pretended to think about it. "Do you want to?"

"I…" Shepard blinked. She furrowed her brow. "I don't know. I think I'd rather you touched me."

Harper's heart seemed to still. "Meet me on Elysium," he breathed. "You can be there by tomorrow night."

"I can't. There's a war on, remember?" Shepard said quietly. "And we're not on the same side anymore. If we ever were."

"We always were," Harper declared. "Tell your crew you're off to fetch something for morale. Some… artifact."

If Shepard noticed the curious inflection in the Illusive Man's voice, she did not say so. Instead, she smirked. "Give me Kai Leng and I'll consider meeting you."

"Meet me and I'll consider giving you Leng," Harper shot back.

"Just like that?" Shepard raised an eyebrow.

"Just like that," Harper nodded.

Shepard took a deep breath. "Maybe," she said. "But not tomorrow. I need a week."

"One week," Harper agreed. "Elysium."

"Maybe," Shepard reiterated. "But for now…"

"Yes?"

Shepard reached under her pillow and grabbed her pistol. "I really need some sleep."

The shot blew apart the communicator, and Harper found himself back on Cronos Station, hard as a diamond and staring into a dying sun.

He pressed a button on his console. "Jana," he said, as calmly as he could manage. "My office, please. On the double."


End file.
